Page 48 of The Billionaire Is Back

“I’m gonna pull over somewhere so we can talk, okay?”

She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t get out of the car and storm off either.

I drive a couple of blocks and pull into the empty parking lot behind a home goods store that’s closed. There aren’t any street lamps nearby and no houses facing it, so it feels private. Especially in the pouring rain. After turning off the engine, I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn to face her. “Talk to me, Claire. What’s wrong?”

She blows out a breath, laughing and shaking her head, but she unbuckles her seat belt too. “You tell me. You make me feel like I’m not enough,” she says, so quietly I can barely hear her over the sound of the rain on the roof of the car.

But I hear it. I feel it. “Why?”

She shakes her head again, looking out the passenger-side window into the dark, wet, empty parking lot.

“Talk to me.”

She sniffs. “I can’t believe you still have this CD.”

“Of course I do.”

She wipes away her tears.

“Keep talking.”

“Stop ordering.”

“No.”

She huffs and then laughs. “Fine.” She takes in a deep, jagged breath. “And I know I’m responsible for how I feel, blah, blah. I’m not blaming you. Positive thoughts, blah, blah.” She waves her hand dismissively, and it’s so cute, but I’m taking this very seriously. “When you’re not here…” She exhales. “I’m enough. I mean, things aren’t exactly going the way I want them to—yet—obviously. But I love my life. I do. I love my family. I love my friends. I love myself. I love my bakery. I love baking. I love this town, and I’m building the life that I’ve always wanted. Here. And that’s enough. But when you’re around…” She shakes her head again and looks away.

I curl my index finger under her chin and gently turnher face toward me.

The tears are falling again.

I wipe them away this time.

“Please don’t make me say this out loud.”

I wipe away another tear. “Okay. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Fine,” she says defiantly, as I knew she would. I can tell she has to force the words to come out, but she finally says with a trembling voice, “When you’re around, I feel like I don’t deserve to be kissed.”

“That’s not how I feel about you,” I tell her without hesitation. As I cradle her face with one hand, I caress the damp skin of her cheek with my thumb. “Not even close.”

“Don’t lie to me because you feel sorry for me. You didn’t want to kiss me back then. You were relieved that you didn’t have to kiss me tonight. I’m not worthy of being your girlfriend. Only a temporaryfakeone.” With the wordfake, her quivering voice takes on an angry tone again.

“You’re wrong, Claire,” I say softly.

“I’m not, and you know it.”

I’m still cupping her face, but she keeps glancing away.

“Look at me.”

She won’t.

“Claire.”

Still, her eyes won’t meet mine.

So stubborn.

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